Don't Struggle
by PrincessxThexRipper
Summary: Hayato Gokudera became a nomad after his lover's death a hundred years ago. He returned to his lover's place of birth, current day Namimori, Japan. Here he meets Takeshi Yamamoto, a student who resembles his dead lover in not only looks, but personality as well. After getting over his resentment for the boy, and realizing that Takeshi is his mate, can they live and love in peace?


He hated being in Japan. Granted, it'd been over a hundred years since he was last here, but now it was Namimori, and it was different. _**He**_ wasn't here. _**He**_ had died a hundred years ago. Coming back here felt… wrong. Which it should, this wasn't where he was from, and he didn't know this place. He got himself an apartment, he wasn't expecting to stay very long, not that it mattered, and he'd hardly be there anyway. There were a lot of people, good hunting grounds, and Japanese men tasted wonderful.

_Look at his smile… and his laugh… and those beautiful brown eyes, full of kindness…_ Takeshi swept his boyfriend into his arms and nuzzled his neck. "Tsuna…" He smiled against the brunette's flesh.

"Hie! Takeshi…" Tsuna blushed and looked away to his best friend, Mukuro, who was sitting on a nearby bench.

"I'll see you later, Tsunayoshi." He smiled and walked away with a wave.

"M-Mukuro! Wait up!" he struggled in his lover's arms. "C'mon Takeshi let go, Mukuro's leaving." When his lover let go, he skipped off and jogged up to the blue haired teen, who ruffled his hair in return as they left for class.

His heart throbbed painfully watching Tsuna go, but he needed to get to class anyway. For some reason unknown to him, Takeshi was in music next period.

Hayato had decided that during the time he spent in Namimori, he was going to teach again. Things were different since the last time he taught. He decided that two things that stayed nearly the same were music and art. When he got into his first class room, beginning his first day teaching at Namimori High, he set up the keyboards. The class loaded in, he didn't bother looking at their faces. Nothing really mattered to him anymore, not since he lost the love of his existence; his mate.

His sad existence was just a misdemeanor now. Nothing mattered now that Izaya was gone. Not even teaching at this stupid school, not leaving his coven, nothing. His life was a lie. Given as long as he'd lived, anything he wanted was at his disposal. Everything except Izaya. Normally, when his kind lost their mate, they died out of heartache. Hayato felt as if he had, though he was still here, alive as he could be.

His eyes scanned the classroom for the first time, eyes locking with familiar honey brown orbs. He choked out a single word. "I... Izaya..?"

"No, sorry." The room burst into laughs and giggles, "Yamamoto Takeshi." He replied, his smile was _**just like Izaya's**__. _His _**everything**_ was just like Izaya's. The broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, tone muscle, his short, black hair and warm, honey brown eyes… that _**laugh**_… Hayato shook his head.

"My apologies, Yamamoto." He backed away and gestured to the pile of papers on his desk. "Everyone take one and find a keyboard." He strode over to the jet black grand piano and sat down, slipping his glasses onto his nose. He would play… but it had to be the song he wrote for Izaya.

Around him, his classmates' whispers swirled. Murmurs of the new teacher, the _**hot**_ new teacher. His silver hair was tied back, stray pale strands caressing his cheeks. His glasses caught a glare, hiding his beautiful green eyes from the eager audience. His hands touched the keys, the glare subsiding to reveal the teal orbs to be closed. One note, then two, then he broke into a beautiful, melancholy melody. The sweet song sang of tragedy, sadness. The black haired teen almost wanted to cry at the emotion put into the song. His eyes never strayed from his teacher's face. The raw emotion in his eyes when they opened paralyzed him momentarily. Something changed about his eyes, far too quickly for Takeshi to catch... what _**was**_ that?

Hayato ground his teeth as he played, he would not cry. He let his eyes meet those of the impersonator… the one who looked just like Izaya, finding the same kindness and pure, straightforward look in his eyes. He hated it. His hands slammed down on the keys, making an awful sound. "That was a little example of what all of you should eventually be able to do. Everyone pair up, and start learning the given song. Please call me if you're in need of assistance." He smiled as everyone paired up and began playing.

From one corner of the room, though, he heard a specifically awful player followed by a, "Haha, teacher, I need help."

He traced the sound with his eyes and found the only person without a partner was the impersonator, Yamamoto Takeshi. He walked over, reluctantly and sat beside the boy. "What is it, Yamamoto?"

He gestured to the music and began playing so terribly, it hurt Hayato's ears. "Stop." He shook his head and reached over to the piano, playing the music much more beautifully.

Takeshi was again, amazed. This teacher was absolutely stunning; he was a musician and he was gorgeous, but he was also not Tsuna. He watched as the teacher played, his fingers gliding across the keys. "You're really good, Mr. Gokudera."

This shocked Hayato out of the tiny trance he'd been put in as he played. He sighed deeply, which meant he had to inhale the sweet scent of the male beside him. _Oh __**fuck**__… that scent…_ He sniffed greedily, drinking in the smell of fresh rain and faint vanilla. "Th-thank you." He mumbled. "You can't read music, can you?"

"No, not really. I know the beats, but it's difficult to remember the notes and the placement of them on the board." He shrugged and shook his head, laughing. That sent more of the heady aroma in Hayato's direction. He wanted to groan, _this __**fucking kid**__!_ He spent the entirety of that period trying to drill the letters into his brain. Eventually, the bell rang, and it was time for him to go teach art.

He entered the classroom and smiled, looking around to see paintings and beautiful artwork. "This is wonderful…" He'd developed, over the years, a great appreciation for different types of art, and as time progressed, art became more abstract. He decided that in prep for this next class, he'd sketch something. He grabbed a large pad and a charcoal pencil, beginning to sketch. When he'd finished, he had what he expected to have. That tree.

A tall, black, twisted tree sat on the page. Beneath it was the silhouette of a man drawing. _Izaya_, he thought silently. He laid it against the white board as the bell rang and the class entered. _No not again… not __**that scent**__. _ He drug his eyes up to the familiar face of Yamamoto Takeshi, the one who's looks mirrored his mate's. "Mr. Gokudera! You teach art, too? That's so cool!" He laughed, wrapping his arms around the small brown haired boy beside him. Anger and jealousy stirred within the older silverette. Who the fuck was that boy?

Hayato made a soft, "Tch," as his reply and wrote his name on the board. "Class, I'm Gokudera Hayato, your new art teacher." He began an entire class overview of everything they'd be covering.

His hyper sensitive ears picked up whispering from Yamamoto's direction. "I love you, Tsuna…" the soft murmur of the brunette's voice carried only to the small, meek looking child and Hayato, who got the urge to snarl.

A giggle was the boy's reply with a kiss to Yamamoto's cheek, "I love you, too."

Jealousy ripped through Hayato, a low growl, nearly silent. He scowled and called a student to the front to pass out materials. Everyone was handed a charcoal pencil and a sheet of paper and told to sketch the first thing that came to mind. He walked around the room to see what everyone was drawing. When he passed the look-alike, there was a baseball drawn with a bat, poorly mind you. The boy named Sawada beside him had drawn kanji saying "beast" inside of an eye. It was eerie and made Hayato shudder.

He passed on, looking over multiple students' work; it seemed the overall best drawing was from a Kakimoto Chikusa. It was a fairly macabre picture, for a human. Multiple voodoo dolls misplaced, hanging from yo-yo strings, and stabbed by pins. All around, an interesting piece.

After class, the school day was finished. Hayato, as expected, was beginning to get hungry again. The sunlight wasn't helping his condition either. It burned his unnaturally clear green eyes and gave him a migraine. When he got home, he slept for a few hours, not awaking until the moon was high in the sky. He awoke, rubbing his eyes and changing out of what he called his 'teaching' clothes. He traded his slacks for black leather jeans and his white button up for a red v neck. He grabbed the keys to his bike and slipped out the door, _who's on the menu __**tonight**__?_

He slid onto his black sports bike, no helmet, and drove a few towns over to a club. When he entered, there was yelling, and a lot of it. A blonde was shouting at the bartender. He had a decent muscle tone, but nothing too much, golden brown eyes, and a scar across his nose and cheeks. Hayato immediately decided that _**this**_ would be his prey. He walked over, slipping an arm around the shouting blonde's waist and looking him in the eye. The connection was immediately established and all Hayato had to do was whisper, "Come with me." The blonde nodded repeatedly and followed the silver haired 'man' out the back and into an alleyway.

The blonde was backed against a wall and Hayato's lips claimed his. He kissed back, all teeth and tongue, fisting his hands in Hayato's shirt. "You're a lively one…" he muttered, kissing and biting down the man's neck until the overwhelming urge to bite into his carotid artery kicked in. His fangs retracted from his mouth with a soft 'click'. They sank into the blonde's neck and sweet blood gushed into his mouth, he grimaced around the wound, but drank greedily anyway. He'd always preferred blood bitter and hot, it was just how he was, but it seemed he'd have to settle for the sweetness of this one. Carnal moans and growls, paired with the grinding of hips and roaming hands were the reactions of the male. A hand pulled softly on Hayato's hair as he made wanton sounds that were like nails on a chalkboard resounding in his ear. He was beginning to get agitated with the animalistic man beneath him, so, he removed his fangs from his neck, then bit in again. The re-bite was not the "pleasure" bite, as it'd been nicknamed; it was the true bite. This traded the sexual noises and actions for fighting and screaming as he felt his life being drained from him and the silverette's teeth ripping his flesh into something unrecognizable from ground beef. Hayato dropped the body, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He shook his head as he walked, chuckling slightly, he always knew he was nothing more than a monster…

A week passed uneventfully, not as much for Takeshi as for Hayato. The teen couldn't help but notice that his Tsuna was growing apart from him, and closer to Mukuro, and this made him depressed. The highlights of his days were when he got help in art or music from Mr. Gokudera. He couldn't say he didn't find his teacher attractive. He was easily lost in the striking sea-green orbs that belonged to the man. He'd often find himself thinking about him when he hadn't meant to, or watching the older man as he played piano in class. The ethereal glow that always seemed to surround him seemed to intensify whenever he played piano, or picked up a pencil to draw. Takeshi had seen a few of his teacher's drawings, his favorite was by mistake. It was a drawing of a man that looked much like an older version of himself, in the 1800's. It was beautiful. The name written on it was Izaya Hewajima, but he couldn't deny that it looked so much like him. He found the drawing in his teacher's desk when he was retrieving something else. The man in the picture had fangs, and Takeshi wondered whether or not he was a vampire…

During the week, Yamamoto wore not only on Hayato's nerves with his awful art skills and tragic piano playing, but also on his patience with the alluring scent of his blood and his Izaya-like mannerisms. He hated how he couldn't stop thinking about the boy that so much resembled his late lover. As much as he wanted to, though, he didn't deny that every time his thoughts strayed they landed on him. He could, however, hate how when his eyes wandered around the room they seemed to land on him. They'd watch his facial expressions, or move with the way his hands moved on the keyboard, even occasionally following the flicks of his pencil as he drew in class. He was hooked. Every time he'd gone to help the boy, he'd felt a buzz of energy that he tried hard to push to the back of his mind.

This was why he was now wandering around Namimori at 9 pm, looking for a snack. He wanted a loner, someone hiding in the shadows. He thought he smelled something, but quickly shrugged it off and continued his search for his bitter meal.

Takeshi rolled over and pulled Tsuna to him, "Come here… Why're you sitting so far?" He smiled and pulled the boy onto his lap, hoping he'd detach his face from the cell phone in his hand. "Tsuna…"

"Hm? Haha, just texting Mukuro…" He trailed off as his phone buzzed again and caught his attention.

Takeshi gave him a disappointed look and took the phone, tossing it to the other side of the bed. "Tsuna look at me."

The boy met his eyes with a pout on his lips. Takeshi leaned in and kissed his bottom lip softly, sucking on the flesh. He kissed back, gently massaging Takeshi's lips with his own, his hands wrapped around Takeshi's shoulders as he felt himself being picked up and set on the bed. Takeshi's hands slid under his shirt, teasing the flesh and creeping towards his chest. The large, warm pads of his fingertips slid over the brunette's nipples, pinching softly. The small boy moaned out and arched his back, hips grinding against his lover's. This got soft moans from the raven haired boy above him. Tsuna sat up and let the larger boy pull off his shirt and remove his own. Takeshi kissed down his boyfriend's neck and slid his tongue along the pale flesh.

Hayato felt stabbing pain in his chest, shooting from his heart outwards. He stopped dead. He could hear soft moans and whimpers of pleasure. Why would he be hearing thoughts? He hadn't used that ability in quite some time. The only time he would be hearing and feeling things was if his mate was- no. There was no way. Izaya was his mate, and Izaya was dead. He tracked the thoughts and feelings to a bedroom in the upstairs of a nearby sushi-bar. He closed his eyes and saw the familiar Sawada boy in the lap of the person who's vision he was currently seeing. The small boy's mouth was slowly bobbing over the head of the male's member, his cheeks flushed. Wanton moaning resounded and Hayato was unbelievably disgusted. He'd no clue what he was seeing until an estranged grunt of pleasure came from the one who's point of view he was seeing in the form of a name. "T-Tsuna…" He'd know that voice anywhere. That was Izaya's voice, or the voice of the imposter rather. Something snapped in Hayato, and within seconds, he was outside of the sushi shop. He entered, unnoticed, and slipped into the bedroom. As soon as the brown haired boy noticed him, he was glamoured and the connection was made.

Tsuna stopped, much to Takeshi's dismay, and wiped his lips. "T-Takeshi… I sh-should go.." he began collecting his clothes as Hayato made him forget he'd ever come over.

"E-eh? Tsuna? Why do you have to go?" Takeshi assumed something was wrong and quickly pulled his pants and boxers back on. He grabbed his entranced boyfriend's wrist and gently pulled him.

"My mother.. I'm sorry, I have to go." He pecked his lover's lips and slipped out of the room.

Takeshi couldn't help that he was painfully hard when Tsuna left. It wasn't really a big deal, he laid back and slid his hand into his pants. He stroked slowly, arching his back and hips into his hands with a low moan.

After a few minutes he was a panting, moaning mess. His thoughts had been on Tsuna the entire time, but the closer he got… the more they wandered. They began on Tsuna's previous actions, thoughts of his licking and sucking driving him. But soon enough, he was plagued by thoughts of his music and art teacher. Every time their hands had mistakenly brushed in class, a shock of pure, unaltered pleasure was shot up his arm. He couldn't fight the thoughts of how amplified that pleasure would be if that little shock was directed to other parts of his body.

He moaned again, fisting his free hand in the sheets. He bit into his lip and whispered a name that he knew didn't belong to his lover, but wouldn't admit it. Though it didn't matter if he did anyway, because the vampire in the hall heard it clear as day, "G-Gokudera!"

Hayato left the room after the Sawada boy and leaned against the door. Through the holes in the thin tank top he was wearing, he could feel the warm wood against his icy skin. He could hear Yamamoto's heartbeat thrumming with the aftermath of the pleasure he was receiving before. He could hear the brunette's still ragged breathing and the rustling of clothes mixed with the soft complains of the springs as he laid back down. A stifled groan resounded. Hayato stiffened and his eyes widened in shock, _there's no way he's… no way._

"Ngh…" his hyper sensitive ears could hear the sound of his flesh in his hand as he whimpered.

It seemed his student had taken it upon himself to complete the task his boyfriend had started. The combination of his mate's scent and the noises wafting through the door forced him to bite back a moan as his pants tightened. He should have had more self-control, he was three hundred years old dammit! But this was his mate and he couldn't exactly go in there and pleasure him. He suffered silently through the noises Yamamoto made.

That was, however, until he heard his name. Hayato's nails buried into the flesh of his palm, drawing a bit of blood as he got caught between two evils; feed or fornicate. Not the most romantic of urges, he knew, but he hadn't fed and he could almost _**feel**_ every stroke of the boy's hand through their mental link. He summoned the fraction of strength and self-control he had left and shoved himself off of the door. He darted at an inhuman speed out of the restaurant and headily drank in the night air in a desperate attempt to shake himself of the scent of his mate's arousal and his blood.

He knew very well that if he hadn't gotten out of there when he did, he would have opened that door.


End file.
